


Who Watches the Watchmen?

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Drunkenness, Episode Related, Gen, Related to 1x07 a bit too, episode 1x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 04:37:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21350377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: Sam feels guilty. Gene wheedles it out of him.
Relationships: Gene Hunt & Sam Tyler
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Who Watches the Watchmen?

**Author's Note:**

> Although I have seen all of LoM, it was a long time ago and I can't remember if there was a fallout/resolution to the end of 1x08 or not. So this is either a missing scene or thoroughly jossed, who knows.

“Right, that's settled then.” Gene stalks across the office. “Chris, Annie, you're on canvassing. Ray, you and our little moral compass here-”

“Don't.”

Gene spins to face Sam. “Excuse me?”

“Don't call me that.”

“I'm sorry Samantha, I thought that was your role in this department. If you don't like my little nicknames, please, do feel free to inform the Chief Inspector.” He fixes Sam with a glare, and waits until he drops his gaze. “You and Ray,” he spits finally. “Check out down by the docks. I've got calls to make.”

He slams into his office, and Sam scrubs a hand over his head. “Right,” he sighs, glancing up at Ray. “C'mon then.”

–

Later that afternoon, he knocks back his whiskey and stares into the empty glass like it holds all the answers. He flicks his finger, and soon, an answer of a sort arrives in the form of another measure glugged from the bottle. He swallows a mouthful, sucking his teeth at the burn, and swills the rest in a golden swirl around the glass. He's halfway to sloshed already.

“Okay.” A shape swings into the seat next to him, and he hangs his head with a groan. “Going to tell me what's got your knickers in a twist? You've been a bawling pansy all day, you disappear, and now I find you swimming in a bottle at half past five.”

“It's pub o'clock.”

“Five is pub o'clock, Sammy, half past five is the first mouthful of a cool refreshing pint, not-” a hand grabs his face and twists, squishing his cheeks in a rough hold. Gene is rather too close, peering at him, and Sam snarls and pulls himself free. “-whiskey soaked and pickled.” Gene steals his whiskey and finishes it, sliding the glass back over to him. “I'd have thought the moral fibre of the-”

“Don't.”

“That's the second time you've said that to me today. I think you're forgetting who tells who what to do in this little relationship.”

Sam sneers, and spins his empty glass. No chance of a refill with Nelson in the back rooting around for more crisps, but it's going to take a few to block out the presence at his side. Going to take blackout drunk, not stumbling pissed.

“Moral compass.”

Sam shoves Gene, the alcohol making his aim clumsy and doing very little to the larger man, but almost sending him backwards off his stool. “Don't call me that!”

Gene raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Nothin'.”

“I'd rather not beat it out of you.” A pause. “That's a lie. But it'd be easier if you just spat it out.”

Sam looks around, the pub filling up with coppers now, and Nelson coming forward to serve them all. The bar is too crowded suddenly, bodies pressing in and stealing all the air. “Not here,” he gasps, staggering to his feet and out of the door.

He walks blindly, Gene a silent but steady presence behind him, and ends up at the canal. There's nowhere left to go – just water, already dark, nights drawing in. He turns to face Gene and leans back on the railing, raising his face to the sky.

Gene lights a cigarette. “Knickers,” he presses. “Twist.”

“I-” He shakes his head. “Nothin'.”

Gene grabs him by the lapels, but Sam's drunk enough that he just stares back, lax, and lets himself be manhandled. Gene shakes him, and he laughs bitterly. “Sam!”

“I let him go,” he admits.

“What? Who?”

“Vic Tyler. I let him go.”

It's a relief, almost, to have it out there, even as Gene drops his grip and steps away. That's that, then. He spins, looking out over the water, and bends until his head is against the cool metal bar. He closes his eyes.

“You did what?”

“I let him go,” he mumbles again. “I had him – I could have arrested him. I started to. And then I let him go.”

“Why?” The guv's voice is weirdly steady. “You were all over the place on that case. What was he to you?”

Sam laughs and shakes his head, still pressing his forehead to the metal.

“Stand up!” Gene grabs him and spins him back round, pressing him into the metal, and the movement makes his stomach roll, reminds him he hadn't got round to eating lunch, and now he's had half a bottle of forty proof on an empty stomach. He swallows, compulsively. “He your long lost brother or something?”

“Or something,” he echoes, pressing his lips back together.

“Family,” Gene spits, releasing him again and stepping back. He runs a hand through his hair. “Tyler and Tyler. Not bloody rocket science. Why didn't he say anything?”

“Didn't... doesn't know.”

“What?”

Sam breathes deeply, feels the fresh air settle his stomach enough to speak properly. “I'm older than him. He hadn't seen me in a long time. He didn't know.”

“But you did. And didn't see fit to tell your DCI.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Are you?” Gene peers at him. “I don't think you are. I think you'd do it again, for him.”

“Not – not for him.” God, not for him. What he is... he's not sure he's ever going to be able to face that thought head on. He wishes he'd never known. He wishes this is all just a fantasy, something his sick head has concocted, but to know that for sure he has to _wake up -_

“No? Enlighten me. What was all this in aid of exactly?”

“Them. Ruth – Mrs Tyler. And Sammy. They couldn't – I didn't want them to have to...” he trails off. “We don't just punish the guilty.”

“How it works,” Gene says gruffly, quieter. “Criminal scum, they make their bed and the bed of those around them. Nothing we can do about that.” He lights a new cigarette, last one dropped forgotten on the floor in the scuffle, and rubs the heel of his hand over his forehead. “Most of the time.” He sighs, heavily, and smokes in silence for a minute. Sam leans, watching, trying to fight the floaty half-awareness of whiskey in his blood. Gene points at him and he follows the path of that finger.

“You've used your pass, DI Tyler.”

“What?”

“Your pass. Stamped. Voided. Ka-bloody-put.” At Sam's lack of recognition, he clips him round the head. It sends Sam sideways, just catching himself on the railing. “Don't do it again.”

“I won't.”

“I'll be watching you. 'Specially round any Tylers.”

“You should arrest me, or, or demote me-”

Gene stares at him. “And do meself out of my moral compass?”

“Don't-”

“This is how it's going to work, Gladys.” He leans in again, and his breath is hot and too close. He smells of fag smoke and booze. “You keep an eye on us. I keep an eye on you. We all go home smelling of roses.”

“But-”

“And while keeping your little eye peeled, maybe you just step down off your high ground about it.”

Sam nods, wordlessly.

“Good man.” A clap round the arm pushes him forwards, and starts dragging him back the way they came. “Now – pub.”

“Pub?”

“It's gone six and I have yet to taste that first refreshing mouthful, Sammy boy-”

“You stole my-”

“I'm talking about beer. Besides, Raymondo owes me a pint.” Gene glances sideways. “Come to think of it. Figure you do too, now. We can make a night of it. If you stay upright long enough.”

“I'm fine-”

“Oh I know.” Sam stumbles, and a strong hand fastens itself around his arm, yanking him upwards again. “You watch us, I watch you,” Gene adds with a chuckle, tugging the arm around his shoulders and taking enough of Sam's weight that he can get his feet underneath him again. He shakes his head. “Prissy little lightweight.”


End file.
